


Anthony J. Crowley, Esq.

by hanap



Series: Letters to A.J. Crowley, Esq. [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24007633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanap/pseuds/hanap
Summary: Aziraphale writes a letter to Crowley while in lockdown to apologize, at long last, for their confrontation at the bandstand. Crowley decides to break quarantine.Can be read as a companion fic toPenance.Come find me onTwitterandTumblr!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Letters to A.J. Crowley, Esq. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753459
Comments: 44
Kudos: 266
Collections: Good Omens Lockdown fics





	Anthony J. Crowley, Esq.

> My dearest Crowley,
> 
> I hope this letter finds you well.
> 
> As you read this, I know you are already teasing me for being so old-fashioned, but it has been so long since I last wrote to you. I suppose there was never any real reason to write you a letter, especially now that I see you nearly every day. I must say I’ve grown used to having you here, and now it feels strange to be away from you.
> 
> I know, strictly speaking, we don’t actually have to stay home, but I believe it is for the best. We must set a good example for the humans. Some of the silly things are still going about their business, as though there isn’t a plague out and about. One would think, after all the diseases that they’ve been through as a species, that they would know better by now. But I suppose they were given free will for a reason.
> 
> In any case, we’ve gone much longer without seeing each other. A thousand years, at one point. I’m sure the next few weeks will go by before we know it.

\---

Aziraphale set down his pen, carefully wiping the tip dry as he surveyed the beginnings of a letter to Crowley ruefully. He could already picture Crowley smirking at him and making yet another dry comment about how he needed to get with the times. Oh, how he missed the dear creature. He couldn’t fathom how they could have once gone decades, centuries, _an entire millennium_ without seeing each other once. The days were going by so painfully slowly, it was nigh intolerable. He had even, on one particularly tedious occasion, considered a nap. Instead, he had decided to sort through a long-suffering pile of books and ended up unearthing a set of traditional English cookbooks he hadn’t known he owned.

He absently lifted a scone from the plate, somehow still warm despite having been baked eight hours before, and spread some clotted cream, then a delicate serving of jam on top, before putting it in his mouth. He chewed with pleasure, savoring the comforting flavors and the contrast in temperature of cream, jam, and scone. This batch was a marvelous improvement compared to his first few efforts at baking. One memorably dreadful attempt had had to be hastily miracled into a delectable batch of rainbow fairy cakes, whereupon it mysteriously appeared on the table of a nearby shelter. It would have been impossible for humans to tell the difference, but Aziraphale knew.

The rest of the scone was polished off in short order. Aziraphale took a sip of tea, the mug’s handle improbably shaped into a pair of angel wings. A keen observer might have noticed that, despite the coolness of the day and the fact that Aziraphale’s tea had been left largely ignored for the past half hour, steam continued to rise in spirals from the mug. He picked up his pen and dipped it into his inkwell, meticulously tapping off the excess ink with a practiced hand.

\---

> Pardon my rambling. As I write, I rather feel as though you are here with me now.
> 
> I’m sure you are wondering why I am going to all this trouble when I could easily pick up the telephone and call you instead. Not another word about those ghastly mobile phones. I’ve already heard everything you’ve had to say on the subject. I simply felt as though this deserved something a little more personal.
> 
> I’ve had quite a lot of time on my hands lately, what with the bookshop being closed. It has occurred to me that we’ve never properly discussed what happened before Armageddon. (We must really think of something else to call it. The world didn’t end, after all. It doesn’t seem quite right to keep calling it that.) It’s perfectly understandable, of course, given that we were in mortal peril at the time, but I feel it is high time we gave it due attention.
> 
> Don’t scoff at me now, dear. You know as well as I do that this isn’t a conversation that we can keep putting off forever.
> 
> You know by now where I stand on this, but I feel that it must categorically be said, both for your sake and mine. I carry this terrible thing I have done with me always, every day. Please forgive me, Crowley. You have stood by my side all these years, and I have repaid you only with disappointment time and again. This is no excuse for the way I have treated you, but you must know I only did what I thought was necessary to protect you from Heaven’s wrath a second time. I could not have lived knowing that I had brought about your ruin because of my own weakness.

\---

Aziraphale dropped the pen onto the cloth and covered his face with his trembling hands. How Crowley had suffered at his own hands. Crowley, who had known the truth of it all along, who had known it from the very beginning. Aziraphale had stumbled along, fumbling his way in the dark, until a beam of light had finally come in the form of a carpetbag full of books handed to him in the ruins of a demolished church, leading him down a path he had been all too afraid to follow.

\---

> Please allow me now to retract every word I said. You are the dearest, most precious person in the world to me, Crowley. I have treated you cruelly for far too long because I was too afraid to acknowledge it. I will spend the rest of my existence making it up to you if you would let me. If you will have me.
> 
> I chose you then, dearest, when I turned my back on Heaven’s iniquity.
> 
> I choose you now, every day, for the rest of my days.
> 
> You are in no way obliged to reciprocate this, of course. I only wish I had been courageous enough to say this to you sooner.

\---

The words feathered slightly where a drop of moisture had landed on the paper. Aziraphale wiped his eyes quickly and signed the letter with merely an “A”, before taking a piece of blotting paper and scrupulously blotting the shining black ink as it lay drying on the sheet. He sat for a while, staring blankly at the words he had written. He had made his handwriting larger than usual, so as not to give Crowley too much difficulty while reading. Aziraphale knew his serpent’s eyes were not suited for small text.

Aziraphale’s hands moved automatically, folding the paper carefully before he could lose his nerve, addressing it in his graceful copperplate to “Anthony J. Crowley Esq.” He pulled a small drawer open and hesitated for a second before rifling through its contents and pulling out a small green stub of sealing wax. Heat suffused his cheeks suddenly. Green for lovers who live in hopes – or for casual friendships. He took a small lighter and lit the end, the melted drops of wax falling like tears onto the paper. He pressed his seal into the wax firmly as it cooled.

One deep breath to steel himself for what he was about to do. Aziraphale picked up the letter, willing his fingers to stop trembling with fear and anticipation. Impulsively, he held the wax seal to his lips for the briefest moment, imbuing it with the slightest bit of divine energy, to ensure none but Crowley would be able to open it. He laid the letter back down on his writing desk, the seal now glowing slightly with an ethereal light.

One more deep breath. Aziraphale shut his eyes, concentrating on safely delivering the letter. When he opened his eyes, the letter was gone.

His heart thudding hard in his chest, Aziraphale shakily gathered up the dirty plates on his desk and took them to the kitchen. He would do them by hand today, because who knew how long he would be waiting for Crowley’s answer? His eyes flicked to the calendar on the counter – it was the first of May. Crowley said he would be asleep until July. The thought of the agony of the next two months made Aziraphale lightheaded, but there was nothing for it but to wait.

Forcing himself to take even, measured breaths, he washed and dried each plate slowly, his fingers tracing over the familiar image of a cherry blossom-viewing party. He smiled slightly. Perhaps one day, they might still go on a picnic. Maybe they could see the cherry blossoms together. 

A sudden loud clatter in the bookshop startled him, and the last plate slid out of hands, crashing into pieces on the floor. Aziraphale frowned in annoyance, dropping the towel onto the counter. He would deal with the mess later.

“I’m afraid we’re quite closed!” Aziraphale said forcefully, as he strode into the bookshop, and stopped short at the sight of a familiar head of flaming red hair buried underneath a massive pile of books.

“C-Crowley?” Aziraphale spluttered indignantly, before snapping his fingers. The books arranged themselves back neatly into an enormous box for sorting. “What are you doing here?”

Crowley staggered to his feet, his glasses askew, his face flushed nearly the same deep red as his hair.

“Aziraphale. What in Heaven’s name are you playing at?” Crowley’s voice was a low growl in his throat. He pulled off his glasses and tossed them aside without looking.

Only then did Aziraphale notice the crumpled piece of paper Crowley clutched like a lifeline in his right hand, the telltale glow of the green seal giving it away. His ears felt as though they were on fire.

“You said you were going to set your alarm for July! You’re not supposed to be here!”

“Sod the lockdown,” Crowley snarled. “You _know_ we can’t get sick, and no one saw me come in here. Now, explain yourself.”

He was furious, eyes completely yellow and fixed unblinkingly on Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale was lost for words, taken aback as he was by Crowley’s sudden appearance. For a long moment, no one spoke. Aziraphale saw Crowley take a long shuddering breath, a tremor running through his body, and his heart gave way. He felt as though he were in a dream, watching his corporation moving slowly, step by tentative step towards Crowley.

“You’ve read it, then?”

“Of course, I’ve bloody read it, why do you think I’m _here_?” Some of the sting had gone out of Crowley’s tone now. His chest rose and fell deeply, and there was something like fear in his eyes. Aziraphale’s heart clenched at the sight.

“I don’t know, Crowley. Why are you here?”

Crowley dropped his gaze, taking a long breath. When he looked up at Aziraphale again, his eyes were fever-bright, a wild look in his face.

“I don’t know what kind of prank you’re trying to pull, but this is taking it too far.” Another long shuddering breath. “I can take a lot of things, but this?” Crowley’s hand clenched tightly around the paper. “This is too much. Even from you.”

Crowley’s words cut Aziraphale to the quick. Before he knew it, he had closed the few steps between them to take Crowley’s hands in his own. 

“Crowley. My dearest.”

“No, Aziraphale. You do not get to stand there and throw things like this at me and expect me to take it quietly.” Crowley’s breath caught harshly in his throat. “Six thousand years I’ve let you, but not anymore.”

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale whispered, his eyes searching Crowley’s face desperately. “I meant it. Every word. I’ll say it again and again, as many times as you like. As many times as you need to hear it, until you believe that it’s true.”

Crowley shut his eyes tightly, and Aziraphale could feel him trembling like a leaf under his hands. He shook his head slowly.

“How do I know you mean it this time?”

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale’s voice broke. “I am so sorry.”

“Six thousand years,” Crowley said again, and he made a sound that would have sounded like a laugh, had it not been so full of anguish. “The audacity of you.”

“I will spend the rest of eternity begging you for your forgiveness, if that’s what it will take for you to believe me.”

Aziraphale gently took Crowley’s face in his hands. His chest tightened as his thumbs stroked away the wetness tracing down Crowley’s cheeks.

“Please look at me.”

Crowley at last met Aziraphale’s gaze unwillingly, holding himself stiffly under Aziraphale’s light touch.

“Crowley, I love you.”

Crowley gasped as though he had been doused with cold water and stepped away from Aziraphale. His body was taut, poised to defend himself.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Crowley said roughly.

“Don’t tell me what I feel,” Aziraphale said sharply, his hands closing like a vice grip around Crowley’s wrists. “Just because you realized it sooner than I did doesn’t make what I feel for you any less real.”

Crowley shook his head wordlessly, his breath coming quick and fast.

“Believe me. We don’t have to be afraid anymore.” Aziraphale smiled despite himself, his eyes filling suddenly as he realized the import of his own words. “Crowley, my love. Believe me.”

Tears were running unheeded down Crowley’s face. Aziraphale felt his own heart breaking. He let go of Crowley’s wrists, pulling out a plaid handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiping Crowley’s cheeks. To Aziraphale’s great surprise, Crowley laughed, a smile breaking on his face like the dawning sun.

“Someone deliver me from all this tartan.”

Aziraphale stared at him in wonder. Crowley was so lovely, the smile on his face almost beatific. For an instant, Aziraphale saw the image of the angel Crowley had once been, glowing with divine light. But the illusion quickly faded, revealing again the demon that he loved. He reached out and took hold of Crowley’s lapels, pulling him closer towards him.

“I’m afraid it’s a package deal, my dear. You can’t have me without the tartan.”

Crowley’s left hand reached up slowly to cover Aziraphale’s hand with his own, holding it tightly against his heart. Aziraphale could feel it beating loudly against his palm. For a long moment, they simply stood there, the silence heavy with the weight of six thousand years, until at long last, Aziraphale tilted his face up to kiss Crowley, their mouths slotting together perfectly, as easy as breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one sitting, which I do not usually do, and I absolutely did not mean for it to be this angsty. Those two did it all on their own. 
> 
> Crowley is setting a terrible example. Please stay home and practice social distancing!
> 
> References to the lockdown video that broke my brain in my thread [here](https://twitter.com/ineffableomens/status/1256282446066102274), if you feel like reading more about it. As a law student, I'm thoroughly tickled at the fact that "Esq." is also used for lawyers. Crowley as a lawyer fic coming up soon, maybe? Hmmm.
> 
> UPDATE: If you were interested in a sequel, you can read my other fic [Penance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24106747) and consider it a companion fic to this one.


End file.
